Date: Fri, 15 Sep 2006 15:28:49 -0700
From: Orfeo Sunstone <orfeo.sunstone@gmail.com>
Subject: I, Roberto Aleman Chapters 3-4

Copyright 2006 by Orfeo Sunstone

Disclaimer: Subject matter of this fictional short story is of homosexual
nature, if this offends you or it is illegal to read in your state or
country, please leave immediately.  All individuals depicted are a figment
of the imagination, and any resemblance to real persons is purely
coincidental.

Your comments are welcome, positive, negative or in between.  Write to
<orfeo.sunstone@gmail.com>


			I, Roberto Aleman


Chapter 3

I'm at this very moment, dear Reader, sitting in the cafeteria between my
prince charming, David Wentworth, and the sultry Sofia Hayes.  I was
cornered, well, more like centered.  Sofia would not leave my side and
David kept wanting to talk to me.  About what?  I don't know; I could only
assume it's about his friend Scott Huntington and the beating my hands
committed to his face and parts of his lower body.

The sandwich I prepared for myself this morning, which I called a "torta",
had not been touched; I was not going to take a bite in the presence of
David, partly because he was paying too much attention to my every move.
The proximity of his body against mine was null, I could feel his arm hairs
mingling with mine.

"Aren't you going to eat your sandwich?" he dared ask after he had eaten
his lunch.  I would eat it if my stomach wasn't under such extreme
pressure.  I shook my head from side to side.  "Can I have it then?"  I
nodded in affirmation.

"No, only if you give me half," spoke Sofia.  Salivating my sandwich, they
split it in half, and I watched as they ate.  A smirk sneaked onto my face.
The sandwich contained a few peppers that were very spicy, just the way I
like them.  From the sudden sweat streaming down their faces, ears turning
red, I deduced that some of the chemicals in those peppers were a bit too
"hot" for them.

"This...this is quite...um...good," Sofia squeaked.

"Why thank you beautiful lady," I tried to control myself from laughing.

"I bit spicy, but very good," commented David and continued taking bites.
His beautiful forehead was being populated by beads of sweat and I wanted
to lick them dry.

"Yes, just a tad bit," agreed Sofia.

"Well, I did make it for myself.  I like my food to be spicy.  I'm a
Mexican after all."  I smiled at them.

"Can I have your guava juice, the heat is starting to sting my tongue?" my
handsome David pleaded.

I handed it to him.  Before he took a swallow, I warned him that some of
the ingredients in the juice would likely make the sting even stronger and
to relieve the pain, he should drink the milk that was on his tray or take
a bite of the piece of bread from Sofia's tray.  But he ignored it my
advice.  He swallowed and swallowed, and spit it right back out onto
Sofia's tray.

"How in the world can you eat something that spicy?" asked a flabbergasted
David trying to wipe the sting from his tongue.

"How?"  I thought for a moment and answered: "Well, I pick-up the sandwich
with both hands, bring it up to my mouth, open it, slide it a few inches
in, close my teeth, start chewing, swallow, and voila, it's in my belly.
Then comes the digestion process which by the way is quite painful—"

"We get the point, Roberto," David interrupted.  I like how he says my
name.  "So, Scott told me his side of the story.  What's yours?"  Now, why
did he have to bring that up?  Why, dear Lord, why?  My nervous fingers
began fidgeting with the curly hair that sat on my head.

"What story?" questioned Sofia.

"My dear Sofia, go find a forest and get lost in it."  And David commenced
the bickering.

"You know what David, buy yourself a piggybank and save your comments."

"Ooh, how mature, it seems you've lost some neurons in the process of
formulating such comments..."

During their little discourse, I decided to flee the scene.  I made it out
of the cafeteria, headed to my locker, tripped over my still untied
shoelaces, and landed on something soft: the body of no other than Scott
Huntington.  Life is great.

A dueling stare commenced while my hands gripped his shoulders, preventing
him from getting up from the carpeted hallway.  His face was covered in
bruises.  My bruises.  He seemed a bit nervous.  Could it be possible that
my tormentor for the past three years had inadvertently become afraid of
"moi"?

"Shall we continue where we left of?" My mouth suddenly voiced.  Why, dear
God, do I get myself into these predicaments?  Who controls this despotic
brain of mine?

Scott's mouth opened and closed a few times without words, but then they
spat out.  "Listen, Roberto, I...I'm sorry for the troubles I've caused
you.  I...I don't want to fight.  We both now know I'm no match for you.
I'm sorry I—"

"Hey, what the fuck is going on?"  We both turned our heads to look at
David hovering above us.  Shit.  He grabbed me by the collar of my t-shirt,
slightly ripping it apart, pulled me away from Scott, twisted me around,
and his face met mine.  So close were our bodies that if I lent forward
less than an inch, my lips would be on his.  My lips.  On his.

The snarl he gave brought me back to reality.  His fists grabbed the front
of my t-shirt, stretching it to its fullest, enlarging the tear.  I could
feel my feet dangling in the air.  I was in trouble.  I made the love of my
life become angry at me.

"If you lay a hand on him again," nodding in Scott's direction who sat
leaning against the wall, "I'll beat the shit out of you.  You understand
asshole?"  I just stared.  He was too good to be true.  He was against me.
Then he spoke in a low tone that I barely heard what he said: "I want you
to fucking stop staring at me, you creep me out, faggot."  And he shoved me
with force against the lockers and I hit my head hard on one of the
padlocks and fell to the floor.  I lifted my hand to soothe the pain
radiating from the back of my head and felt liquid discharging from it.
Blood, my fingers revealed.  I became queasy.

"Are you all right, Scotty?"  I saw David help Scott up from the floor
followed by my brain closing my eyes.

"Yeah, but I think he's bleeding."  That's all I heard as I drift off to
lalaland.



The nurse was not happy at all to see me again.  She explained, what I
already knew, that I fainted from seeing my own blood, but that I was
perfectly fine, except for the bump on my head.  She gave me a pass to give
to my English teacher, which was the class now in session.

I entered the room, gave the pass to Mr. Hurley, took a sit, pulled out my
copy of Shakespeare's Hamlet, and followed David reading a passage out
loud.  His reading faltered a little as he saw the badge placed on the back
of my head.  I blocked my brain from thinking of what happened several
minutes ago.

Today we would be presenting a poem we each wrote that evoked desire.  I
didn't want to read my poem since it was David that inspired it and right
now I wanted to disappear from his sight.  When it was my turn, the nerves
sprang back up and my face became red.  Here, dear Reader is my poem, well,
more like words strung together:

	I ramble through the night
	searching for your thoughts
	next to the moonlight
	to open my heart

	I hear the silence of your voice
	conversing with my shadow
	and you whisper:

	Kiss me

	The wind is thirsty
	and your wet lips drink
	my veins empty

	I ramble through the night
	searching for your thoughts
	next to the moonlight
	to open my heart

	Water pours down your body,
	it's my tongue slithering
	over your wounds

	And I kiss you

Mr. Hurley was surprise and uncomfortable at my narration.  The class said
nothing, except that Mr. Hurley wanted to see me after class, and of course
I agreed; I have detention with him all week long.  The bell rang and the
herd stampede out.  I remained seated and began my homework.  But I
couldn't concentrate.  My thoughts were on David and on the sunlit room
whose only guest was my presence.

Ten minutes later, in walked Mr. Hurley trailed by David who gave me a
disgusted look.  I just looked back down at my desk.  We both had
detention; apparently I was the cause of him being there.  I don't blame
myself though; he's the one that shoved me, which caused my second
fainting.

He sat in the opposite corner of the room, but he had to move next to me
because Mr. Hurley wanted me to help him with his unfinished poem.  Ah, a
few similes we get to share.

He didn't apologize.  For the next hour we worked on his poem.  His naked
arm kept touching mine and his glances lingered on my face.  Many times I
felt his left leg rub up on mine.  But I think that was all in my head as
when we were let go he passed me a note that read: "Remember what I told
you faggot, stay away from Scott and stop goddam staring at me you fucking
wetback".  I walked to my car with my head bowed down, hiding with my
shadow.  For an enormous moment, as I saw David's car burn tire when he
cruised by my old dingy car, I wanted my life to end, I no longer wanted to
continue with this useless life of mine.  But I didn't get my wish.

I met David when we were in sixth grade and we became friends but by the
end of that school year, he became popular, I was a no body, so he told me
that I was not worthy of his presence, well, he used some more colorful
words.  After that we never spoke.  He has been the only friend I have ever
had, even if it only lasted for a couple of months.

Now, after four years, he has directed a few words to my person, words that
bring pain to the heart.  I wish I could stop thinking of him.  Many
mornings I've wished not to ever see him again, and then when I capture a
glimpse of him at school, a smile transforms my lips, and warmth fills my
head.

I've concluded to annihilate the feelings I've formulated towards David,
hopefully obliterate them for good, and resign to my solitude.  Yeah,
that'll be best.




Chapter 4

Weeks flew by and summer was fast approaching.  I have a friend: Sofia
Hayes.  I won't bother you, dear Reader, with details on how we resolved
our differences.  I will inform you that she's not bothered by my sexual
rejection to her advances, yes, she wanted me to be her boyfriend, but when
she read my journal, well, things changed; I still don't understand why she
wanted me as her boyfriend.  Maybe it was the Adonis body I didn't sport,
or perhaps the dignified intellect I didn't poses.  Oh, she also
sympathizes with the love affair I have with David Wentworth.  Okay, we
don't have a love affair; it's only in my head.  I haven't stopped thinking
of him.  He's a guy of memorable eyes.

In a couple of days, Sofia will be celebrating her seventeenth birthday.  A
party has been arranged and I'm invited, though I really don't want to
attend, I don't want to mingle with her supercilious friends, especially
Scott and David.  Besides, Sofia's dad is not fond of me being her friend.
He doesn't want a scoundrel Mexican around his princess.  That's what he
told me out loud for everyone to hear one day he came to pick up Sofia
after school.  Frankly, I wouldn't want a scoundrel around my daughter
either, but I'm not a scoundrel.  I'm just a Mexican.

The day before her big event, I received a letter from a secret admirer.  A
male secret admirer.  I was terrified.  Only Sofia knew that I was, you
know, "different".  Maybe, maybe, David suspected, okay, maybe he knew
since most of the time I spent staring at him in class, we shared every
class.  But I stopped doing that weeks ago.  I no longer look or stare at
him in class.  When he walks by, my eyes are glued to the floor.  The
mysterious letter read:

	"Roberto, I like you.  The years have passed us by, what a
different world.  My love for you has grown.  I'd like to give it you, but
like a word, we are trapped in a parentheses where despotic rulers oversee
the love between two men not be seen.  I could never talk to you so I've
met you in my dreams.

	With eyes closed
	you light up within
	you are blind stone

	Night after night I carve you
	with eyes closed
	you are frank stone

	We have become enormous
	just knowing each other
	with eyes closed

	It's a poem by one of your favorite poets.  I can't reveal myself
now, but soon you'll know who I am.  See you at Sofia's party.

		A guy who loves you"

A guy in this school is in love with I, Robert Aleman.  And I was not
happy.  The only guy I want to fall in love with me is David Wentworth, not
some stranger who happens to know a poet I like to read.  But we now know
that my dreams with David will never come true.

I asked Sofia to give me a list of the people she invited to the party,
well, just the names of the guys who were attending and also the school
yearbook; it was just handed out as our last day in school would be in two
weeks.  It was a long list, but no one fit the description of a secret
admirer, my secret admirer.  I was pissed.  And—

"Watch where your going assho—"

"Fuck off," I responded to the impertinent fool whom I stumbled upon in the
hallway.

"What did you just say you fucking wetback?"

"I said, dive into a toilet and flush it, maybe you'd gain some color that
way."  And I continued on my way to the library ignoring the pest that
wouldn't stop talking.  Most people feel rather confident in their ability
to recognize—

"I guess the little bump I gave your head didn't do the trick.  I'll have
to reinforce it."  I was grabbed by my shoulders and twisted around to face
my assailant: David Wentworth.  He still smelled marvelous.  And then his
fist embedded itself on my abdomen causing my body to struggle for air.  I
didn't fight back; I couldn't hurt the man that I loved, not on purpose at
least.  Just like I read somewhere: The pain that you cause me does not
kill me, but if I caused you any pain, it'd kill me.  Or something like
that.


"Aren't you going to fight back fag?" asked David clenching my t-shirt with
both hands, hissing at my face.  I whispered no and stared into his blue
eyes, then looked away.  My heart was breaking and a silent tear escaped my
left eye.  He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled on it so that I was
staring at him again.  My eyes were misty and that seemed to fuel his anger
because he proceeded to spit on my face.  He released me from his hold and
I tumbled to the floor.



It's Sunday morning, I'm in a stranger's bed and someone is clutching my
body tight against theirs.  I can tell that it's a guys body, the hairs on
his arms is enough evidence as well as the slight snoring coming from his
lips that were on my ear.  And of course a very hard member poking the
small of my back seemed to affirm my suspicions.  I closed my eyes and
tried to remember what happened the night before that landed me in this
quagmire.



Saturday morning I went to the Swarovski shop to pick up Sofia's gift; that
took all morning and part of the afternoon; I honestly didn't know what to
get her.  The party was at 8pm and, being the Mexican that I am, I arrived
at 10pm, which left two hours to bash.  I made it just in time for the
cutting of the cake.

"I thought you weren't going to come," commented a hyper Sofia.  I ignored
her question and asked who in the world were all those fools dancing
around, flapping there hands in the air trying to swap flies—it looked that
way to me at least.  "They're my friends," she answered.

"No, we are friends of a person not a multitude," I replied while searching
for David.

"Yeah...I don't know where they came from; it just suddenly got packed with
slobs.  And now you're here."  Well, it's certainly nice to be compared
with slobs.

We continued to talk for a while and I gave her her gift.  I tried looking
for my secret admirer but no one seemed to fit my description of a secret
admirer, only David, but I definitely knew he was not the admirer.  Sofia
then began ranting on about Scott Huntington.  Sofia was in infatuated with
Scott.  I pointed it out to her but she got mad and said I was going loony.
Maybe.  But, she was in love with him; yeah, she fell in love that quickly
when she found out I wasn't available due to my "difference"—women tend to
fall in love more quickly, at least in my opinion.  And now he's coming
towards us with a bouquet of flowers and a big smile plastered on his face.
Trailing behind was David.  I quickly walked away before they reached us.

Wandering around Sofia's house, seeing strangers laughing with open eyes,
joining one group splitting another, David swapping spit with some girl, I
kissed the cold lips of the night.  No alcoholic beverages were permitted
in the party, but snooping around, I found a cabinet full of liquor.  I
dove right into my first ever shot of tequila, which I had to down with
water, it burnt my throat.  The second shot slid down like water.  The
third shot, well, the rest just tasted like water.

Around midnight, I became a little tipsy, that's normal from the amount of
alcohol consumed by the body that carried my brain around.  I went in
search of Sofia to use the phone to call a cab to pick me up and take me
home.  But Sofia didn't want me to leave; she had already prepared one of
the guestrooms for yours truly.  Did I tell you, dear Reader, that we had
become very good friends?  Well we have.  I was too out of it to argue with
her, so I navigated through the flock of losers, made my way up the stairs,
opened the door of the room, shed my clothes, except for my underwear of
course, and slid under the covers.  I'm amazed that I remember all those
details.

About and hour later, it felt like an hour, someone walked into the room
turned on the nightstand lamp, and slid in right behind me.  I was too
tired, it was the alcohol, so I ignored whoever it was and surrendered to
my sleep.  That is until a warm strong arm sneaked around my waist and
pulled me to their front.  I felt a forehead touch the nape of my neck, a
nose rubbing against my ear, and a pair of lips whispering: "I'm your
secret admirer."  I willed my brain to start working, but damn it, stupid
alcohol wouldn't let me move, and sleep took over.



That, dear Reader, is all the information retained in my memory of the
events that took place the night before.  Time for I, Roberto Aleman, to
confront the alleged admirer.  Gently, I disentangled from his arms, slid
out of the bed, turned to face the human, and I about came close to jumping
out of my skin at seeing who laid sleeping half naked on the bed: David
Wentworth.

This had to be a joke, a really bad joke.  I quickly searched for my pants
and shirt, I was still undressed.  As I began to slide the jeans up my
right leg, a hand grasped my arm, pulled me down to the bed until I was
flat on my back, jumped on top of me and I came face to face with an
underwear clad David.  Oh, those briefs were certainly tight.  See, dear
Reader, I have a despotic brain.

"Where are you going?" he asked and I pointed to the door.  I closed my
eyes in hope that this was a dream I was having and begged to be awoken
quickly before he brutally attacked me.  "Not before you give me what I
want."  And he kissed me.  On the lips.  His lips on my lips, tongues
swirling, thirsty with desire.  The overwhelming excitement caused my
stomach to churn and out spat the tequila from last night into his mouth.
This was truly a nightmare.  I won't recount the minutes that traversed
this misfortune.  I'll just say that our bodies ended up covered in vomit.
Great morning I'd say.  And great way to meet your secret admirer too.



After the unfortunate episode, David avoided me like the plague.  I was
devastated.  No one knew of the incident and I wasn't going to let a soul
know the embarrassing occasion my agonizing life survived.



Your comments are welcome, positive, negative or in between.  Write to
<orfeo.sunstone@gmail.com>